Echoes

I watched my brother’s face as the cocktail of drugs took effect. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled, and beads of sweat began to appear on his waxy skin. I made sure the contacts were secure against his scalp.

“Turn it on,” I said. Meher’s hand went to the switch, but he hesitated.

“You would do this to your own brother? Your own blood?”

“Of course,” I snapped, “as I have with thousands of patients before. I would not make myself a hypocrite. Besides, it’s perfectly safe—and if there’s any chance of finding out what happened to him, I must try.”

I composed myself in the silence that followed, and repeated calmly:

“Turn it on.”

Meher complied; the machine snapped to life and the faint crackle of current filled the room.

Paul’s response was subtle at first, but unmistakable. His mouth slowly opened and closed, as if he were trying to speak, and his eyes began to shift erratically—until finally they landed on me and were locked, with frightening intensity, on my own.

A low moan came from deep within his throat and slowly swelled like a chant.

“Is he speaking?” Meher asked. I leaned over my brother and his eyes tracked me as I approached.

“What is it, brother?” I asked. “How have you come to this place? When we were boys…”

But suddenly there was a pop and the room went silent. The machine failed, and my brother’s moans ceased.

“What did you do?” I asked, rising. “Did you switch it off?”

Meher had no time to respond, for down the hallway, echoed and faint, footsteps were sounding. I stepped to Meher and took him roughly by the collar.

“Who did you tell?” I whispered. “Who knew I was coming here today?”

“No one!” Meher gasped. “I swear it!”

I grabbed my satchel, pulled the contacts from my brother’s skin and grabbed the machine from the table.